


Lavender is Not a Gentleman's Colour

by lavenderfields



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: 1920s, Gay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderfields/pseuds/lavenderfields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble: Bertie has a plan, and it involves a lavender tie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavender is Not a Gentleman's Colour

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if my Jeeves voice isn't so good, I haven't really written from such an eloquent character's point of view before.

Lavender is not a gentleman’s colour, or so one is told. Naturally, the young master’s eyes had lit up upon sighting the purple silken tie in one of Saville Row’s windows, and he had journeyed home with a merry spring in his step to show me his purchase. Although being of a rather conservative, silky nature, the colour had screamed out at me immediately as effeminate and entirely unsuitable for wear outside of the apartment.  
Bertram had taken off his ordinary blue tie and passed it down to me, shunning it in order to wrap the delicate lavender over his collar and peer in the mirror at how it brightened his complexion and highlighted his azure eyes to an oceanic blue. His smile broadened to a beaming grin, and those very eyes that I loved so dearly danced to a merry tune, presenting him all the more unbearably attractive to me. I hadn’t the brutal honesty in my heart to crush his joy over a mere colour, a mere morsel of fabric, and the sight of him so jubilant had stirred something in me that could not be contained.   
Running a finger over the cool, smooth texture of the tie, feigning straightening the perfectly aligned cravat, I couldn’t help but glance at those twinkling blue eyes. The young master’s hand closed on top of my own, the palm of his hand setting fire to the top of my own. Before I could retain myself, my lips were pressed against his own, softly, fleetingly, as though they were never even there for a second.  
‘I thought you’d never realise, old fruit,’ chuckled the master, ‘So I purchased this tie for you. Whether you burn it, give it away to the deserving poor, or feed it to wild dogs, there’s no mistaking it. Lavender is not a gentleman’s colour. A chap as clever as you should latch on, and indeed you have!’ His lips met my own, lingering this time, triumphant. ‘And I’m so glad you have.’   
My wonderful, intelligent Bertram... Cunning in his own, naive way, and utterly delectable in that shade of lavender.


End file.
